


Jester At The Feast

by cycnus39



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-10
Updated: 2014-01-10
Packaged: 2018-01-08 05:45:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 313
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1129036
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cycnus39/pseuds/cycnus39
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Everyone with security clearance beyond Developed Vetting Epsilon has a codename.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Jester At The Feast

Jester At The Feast  
By Cyc

 

One of the most petty and ridiculous aspects of working in the intelligence community was that everyone with security clearance beyond Developed Vetting Epsilon had to have a codename and that no one, no one ever, got to pick their own codename. 

The Clearing House.

Before he had been cleared for Zeta level, back when Sir John was jumping through hoops for Mortimer Poole, his nickname had been The Clearing House. He didn't mind being called The Clearing House as it did, in fact, describe his function perfectly. The Security Service/Secret Intelligence Service/GCHQ provided the data; he provided the checks and balances. The more data they provided, the more problems he could solve, the more outcomes he could deduce, the more patterns he could see, shape, anticipate...change. 

Alexander Appleby.

When he cleared Developed Vetting Zeta, Alexander Appleby, himself codenamed 'Aphrodite' by some long forgotten malcontent, had bestowed 'Five Bells' upon him.

Oh, he had known instantly where it had come from, knew all about the London bank clerks who, in the late eighteenth century, had met at the Five Bells tavern to exchange cheques and settle balances, unofficially creating the first clearing house, but the name still sounded...tawdry.

No, worse than tawdry: hapless.

Five Bells was befitting of a particularly pitiful jester or, even worse, morris dancer. 

In fact, he was quite positive that the more odious of his colleagues were in the habit of referring to him as 'Morris' behind his back. 

They were, of course, afraid of him, in awe of him, but...Morris. How he loathed it. And Five Bells was somehow worse. 

Unfortunately, his fate was sealed. He would forever be Five Bells, would forever be mocked and feared in equal measures by his colleagues and 'friends' alike.

And people wondered why he ate so much sherry trifle. 

 

 

End


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